


The Ressurection

by PlayingChello



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, Triggers, Violence, emotional blackmail, very slightly alluded to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3790666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nero hates the battle he fight in his head. Hates it even more because it has a name.</p>
<p>The ketamine helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ressurection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/gifts).



> This is for my darling [Harley](http://www.twitter.com/erenings) for their birthday (which was yesterday, shhhh). And also, completely by coincidence as a blaze and get fucked present I guess. Happy 4/20. Basically, they asked for pain and suffering.
> 
> Thanks to [Kaden](http://www.twitter.com/gootbuttheichou) for reading through this and telling me when I'm insane. Which was most of the time tbh.
> 
> Also, quick thanks to the rest of the Danero squad who'll be crying with me as they all read this mess. Get fucked assholes.
> 
> I have a [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello) and [Tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).

The first time he did it was an accident.

Kyrie had found a dog, hurt and struggling in an alley in Fortuna and demanded they help it. Nero had a hell of a time getting the dog to a vet, suffered several scratches and minor bites from it. An intern immediately came at them with a syringe and his nervous, shaking hands combined with the struggling animal meant Nero was the one that ended up stuck and accidently dosed with a portion of the sedative. But after the minor sting of the injection, he didn’t think much of it.

A couple minutes later, he was floating. It was like he was looking down from above on the scenes in the veterinary office. He could see himself slacken his grip on the dog, now subdued with a similar dosage of the sedative. He saw Kyrie hold him as his body swayed and slumped. There was this odd sensation of feeling but not being able to _feel_ anything. It took him an hour to come down again, feel again, understand time again.

After that, it became much more intentional.

The thing about Ketamine, for Nero, is that it seems to block out the real world. He forgets about the demons in the world, loses himself in the weird floating non feeling he gets from it. His world becomes simultaneously much smaller and much _much_ larger.

He’s able to separate himself from his demon side.

He didn’t really register the voice in the heat of the takedown of Sanctus, but it started the moment he picked up Yamato. It was more of a buzz, directing him in what to do and how to use his newly developed demon. But after things calmed down, it became a persistent whisper in his head, a soft tickle in his brain and a scratch at his skull.

It calls itself Vergil.

It whispers calming words, encouragement and praise. Whenever his temper became explosive, it would egg him on, push his buttons. It wants him angry.

He hurt Kyrie.

It was an explosion of anger and the voice had whispered to him so nicely, brought his anger to the surface and pushed it over the edge. He pushed her against the wall because she was there. Not because she did anything to anger him, she was just there.

He felt miserable afterwards. Wanted to shut the voice up and never let it come back. Tried to drown it out with music but it just spoke over it. Nothing he did could stop the voice, keep it from saying all of the right things, exactly what he needed to hear to _feel_ things.

The visit to the vet and the accidental sedation is just what he needed. It started him on the path to illicit activity. He started sneaking around, stealing Ketamine from local veterinarians. Using syringes to make himself float away from dirty alleys in the slums of Fortuna.

He finds himself in alleys a lot these days.

Kyrie worries. And he hates himself for making her care. She doesn’t deserve the worry he gives her. She deserves so much more, someone who can be there for her and love her like she needs. Sometimes she finds him and begs him to come home. He doesn’t know if she realises what’s happening to him, but she isn’t stupid. She can see something is wrong.

Usually she doesn’t find him.

He floats alone, looking down at himself slumped on the dirty ground. Stops feeling, and just revels in blissful peace. Reality disappears and he just doesn’t have to exist. The world tilts at odd angles and suddenly something feels odd in his stomach. He thinks he convulses, but then the world truly disappears.

\--

Life has been pretty normal for Dante since Fortuna. Lady still holds his debt over his head and shoots him when he mouths off. Trish still pokes fun at him. He still eats a ridiculously unhealthy amount of pizza and strawberry sundaes.

Overall, he feels pretty good. Jobs come when they come. And he usually tries to get out of them. Lady usually pushes him, bribes him with his debt. So he goes, takes care of whatever asshole demon is terrorising whatever little town and then goes back to Devil May Cry and relaxes.

He never expected this job to turn out like this.

It’s the the first time he’s been back to Fortuna since he helped save it. The island has been quiet and he figures that’s due to the kid’s influence. But even a cocky half demon kid needs some help sometimes.

He doesn’t expect to find said kid slumped unconscious in an alley on his way back from the job.

He almost misses him. It’s completely by chance that he spares a glance down the utterly innocuous alley. An accident that he sees dirty white hair and the slight blue glow on the ground from his arm.

But it’s a conscious decision that his eyes travel over the form concealed in a lumpy jacket covered in mud and filth. Intentional when he takes a couple steps into the alley toward him.

“Kid? ‘S that you?” He steps closer. Dante wonders if he’s dead, with how still he is, how relaxed his muscles are. But he refuses to believe someone like him could die in an alley with no explanation. The whole city would know if he died. He approaches and puts out a hand, “Nero?”

When he shakes his shoulder gently, the younger man slumps further to the side, nearly falling to the ground, would have if Dante didn’t catch him. He kneels down and cups his face in his hands, looking at him long and hard. Nero’s head is relaxed and lolling, his eyes closed. But there is a very slow and shallow breath at regular intervals. A minor shift allows Dante to check his pulse, slow but steady. He’s alive. Very unconscious, but alive.

He can’t leave him here.

Dante has no idea where he lives, where he could take him, even where that girl... Kyrie? He doesn’t even know where she lives. He briefly considers taking him to the church, but after considering how poorly that could go, he decides against it. Instead, he scoops up the half demon in his arms, notes absently how light he is, and carries him back to his bike.

This is where things get interesting. Dante has to arrange Nero in such a way that he stays on the bike and doesn’t fall off while Dante is still able to see and steer. Ends up hoisting him on behind him and leaning forward with Nero’s arms around his shoulders, hoping it’s enough to keep him upright.

The drive back to Devil May Cry is an interesting one, but Nero doesn’t wake up the whole time. Dante manages to make it back without any additional harm coming to either of them. He carries Nero into the bar and lays him down on the couch, on his side in case he throws up.

It takes him about two more hours to come to.

It’s slow, starts with little sounds that are more like a dog whining in its sleep than anything a person would make. His eyelids flutter and his throat makes a bit of a gargling noise. Dante watches him closely, waits to see how he’s going to respond to the new environment.

He barely even registers it.

His eyes blink heavily several times and his head rolls back and forth, body flopping so he’s on his back. He looks entirely out of it still. His normal arm pats absently at the rough leather of the couch, but he doesn’t seem to take in any of the sensory information he gets. It’s almost like Dante’s watching someone whose brain is on a delayed reaction timer. Maybe that’s exactly what it is. He takes a few steps over to the couch and kneels next to it.

“Nero,” he says softly, “Hey, kid. D’you know where you are?”

Dante watches his head loll back toward him slowly as if he’s floating in molasses, watches Nero’s eyes blink hard and slow, sees how unfocused they are. It takes several minutes but eventually the kid looks to get some kind of handle on himself, seems to process some of what’s happening. A flash of recognition passes over his eyes.

“Da-n... te?” His name is almost unrecognisable, so garbled and thick on Nero’s tongue.

“That’s one helluva hangover ya got there, kid. What happened?”

Nero’s brows pinch in confusion, “Hap- wha-?”

Dante shakes his head and brings his hand up to cup Nero’s cheek, thumb running soothingly over his cheek. “What did you do?” he whispers more to himself than anything. It’s not like Nero can really answer him coherently anyway. Then, a little louder, “I’m going to take you up to the bedroom, let you sleep this shit off. Just hold on, I’ll get you some water first.” He pushes himself up, but not before smoothing away a stray strand of hair from Nero’s cool forehead.

When he returns, Nero looks slightly more aware and his movements have gotten a bit quicker. He assists Nero in swallowing some of the water he brought, then picks him up and carts him toward his bedroom.

When he comes back to the main bar, Trish is there.

“I can smell demon on you.”

“Remember that kid from Fortuna?”

Trish nods with one brow raised.

“Found him passed out in an alley, brought him back here to sleep it off. He’s upstairs.”

She huffs, “Well look at you, a regular good Samaritan.”

He scoffs at her and turns away for a beer, “I know I’m an ass, but I’m not a complete dick.”

When he turns back to face her, she’s looking at him with the oddest look and her nostrils are flared. He cocks a brow in question, but she doesn’t say anything to explain her behaviour. So, naturally, he ignores it.

Maybe he should have asked.

\--

Nero wakes suddenly in an unfamiliar place in an unfamiliar bed with a vaguely familiar scent surrounding him.

He panics.

His breathing stutters and his chest tightens. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet, and squeezes them shut even tighter. His mind is blank and reeling, confused and lost. He feels oddly solid, grounded, and heavy. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to spin at his ring.

A sudden pressure on his shoulder makes his whole body jolt away and his eyes fly open. He flinches away from the touch and it disappears immediately.

An icy blue stare meets his wide eyes and it’s like ice in his veins.

It looks like him.

“Get away!” Nero shouts as he scoots back as much as he can away from those eyes. It doesn’t matter that they look at him with concern rather than lechery, caring rather than hunger. They aren’t smiling with contempt, but soft with something deep and genuine.

The person backs away and holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey now, kid. That’s no way to treat your saviour.”

It’s the nickname ‘kid’ that really slams him back into reality and allows him to breathe enough to take in where he is and who is looking at him. He sees a dark room, shrouded in shadow from drawn blinds. The bed is soft underneath him, clean with a decidedly musky scent clinging to the sheets. There’s carpet, and it looks thick and warm, like his feet would sink into it were he to step down. Then he looks back at the man standing nearby, “Dante…”

“Ah, so you do know who I am.”

Nero is still coming down from full blown panic, still disoriented and confused. So instead of responding like a normal person, instead of thanking the man for taking care of him, he lashes out. “What the fuck did you do to me, you old pervert? Why am I in your bed?”

“Nothing more than what you did to yourself. Speaking of which, what was it you did? You didn’t look too hot.”

_He’ll laugh at you. Call you weak._

The jarring feeling of the voice suddenly speaking to him in his head makes him grip at his hair, just barely holding in a scream. But it’s right. Nero can’t tell Dante why he found him passed out. He wouldn’t understand. Plus, no way can he tell him about the voice, about how much it controls him. How much he hates it.

“None of your fucking business.”

Dante looks at him a moment, something evaluating in his expression. Nero never really thought of Dante as dumb, but he also didn’t really consider him of exceptional intelligence either. But the way he feels like he’s being taken apart down to his soul makes him question that. Dante’s eyes bore into him with soft probing, like he’s reading a book and he just has to watch long enough to find the twist ending.

Well, he won’t. Unless he can read minds.

_He’s watching you. Judging you. Wondering why you’re so fucked up. Wondering what’s wrong with you. You don’t like that, do you, bunny?_

He doesn’t even notice when he starts spinning his ring. The voice feeds him easy to trust lines of insecurity. Digs into his psyche and all of the issues he’s built up since he was young and brings them to the surface, reminds him he’s not good enough. That everyone is looking down on him.

“Whatever, kid. You don’t have to tell me. You can stay here as long as you need. Sleep here if you want, I’ll take the couch.”

That trips him up slightly. “Wait. What time is it?”

Dante smirks, “Just passed midnight.”

Nero’s eyes widen again as he realises what that means. “I- I need- Kyrie…”

“Phone’s downstairs. Don’t think she’ll appreciate the late night call.” He doesn’t notice the way Dante’s voice cants just slightly differently than normal.

Nero pushes himself up and stands. Only to fall right back down onto the bed with a hand held to his mouth and the other to his stomach. Before he realises what’s happening, there’s a bucket in front of him and the contents of his stomach are being emptied into it. He heaves several times, until nothing comes up but his stomach still spasms, trying to retch even though there is nothing left.

When the bucket is pulled from his face, he vaguely registers a hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. He leans back into the touch, craving the physical contact.

“Jesus, kid. Let’s get this coat off you and get you back to sleep.”

Nero’s entire body stiffens. He shakes his head violently, finger going to his ring automatically, and he scoots away again.

“Hey, hey,” Dante says quietly, “Shhh, it’s ok. You’re safe here.”

_No you’re not. Nowhere is safe, little one. He wants to take advantage of you._

A violent shiver wracks Nero’s body, and he curls up on himself.

“Alright. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, just shout or something. Don’t try to get up. I’ll call Kyrie for you, just give me a number.”

He stammers out the number and Dante takes his leave, offering one final glance back toward the younger man.

\--

It takes days before Dante feels comfortable letting Nero leave. And even then, he makes sure that he’s got his number and knows he’s welcome back at the Devil May Cry whenever he likes. Dante isn’t happy about letting him go, concerned about what he may do, and that the next time he ends up in an alley, unconscious would be the best case scenario.

It’s months later that he hears anything. He’s napping with a magazine over his face, avoiding Lady and jobs and life in general. He’s been subconsciously perching by the phone, taking any job he heard wind of in Fortuna, trying to get any news from Nero and how he’s doing.

The phone rings and he almost doesn’t answer it.

It’s always just some new client complaining about some stupid demon he doesn’t want to deal with. But something makes him move, something makes him lazily bang his foot down on the desk so the phone receiver flips up into his hand.

“Is this Dante?”

Dante smirks, “Depends on who’s asking. You sound pretty enough.”

There’s a pause that he assumes to be nervous. The girl on the other end of the line seems a bit timid. But then she takes a deep breath and starts again, “Nero’s missing.”

His heart stops.

He doesn’t even think about all the implications of his reaction. He doesn’t care. He drops the receiver after a quick, “I’m on my way” and is out the door only after checking to make sure Ivory, Ebony, and Rebellion are all with him.

It takes him hours, even with his demon senses finely attuned to Nero’s familiar scent. He finally finds the half demon dangerously close to drowning under a bridge off the island. Only another half hour and the tide would have risen to where Nero is face down in the sand and he wouldn’t have been able to move.

Dante drags him up the beach a ways, out of danger of the rising tide, and sits in the rough sand so he can prop Nero’s limp form up against his chest. “Oh, kid. What are you doing to yourself?” He strokes back Nero’s damp hair, brushes his fingers through the tangled white strands. He ignores the stink of the sea, focusing instead on the way Nero’s body shivers and how weak his heartbeat is.

He repeats the process from last time, brings him back to the bar and lets him sleep in his bed. He takes his coat off so he can be more comfortable and finally sees what Nero wanted to hide the first time. 

His human arm is _covered_ in scars.

So covered, in fact, that Dante almost misses the track marks. Probably would have if he didn’t run his fingers over the arm, feeling the way the scars raised the skin in knotted white tissue. He doesn’t even bother trying to stop the little whine he lets out at seeing and feeling the way the kid had hurt himself.

This time, when he wakes up, Dante is napping in a chair in the farthest corner from the bed, sure to not startle him as he blinks back into awareness. Still, he hears the sound of metal spinning as Nero’s eyes dart around the room. He calms down after a few moments, eyes locking on Dante.

“What are you taking, Nero?” He doesn’t really mean for his tone to sound quite so harsh and demanding, and he regrets it with the way Nero’s expression hardens and his jaw sets.

“None of your fucking business, old man. Why am I even here?”

Dante sighs, “Kyrie called me. Said you were missing.”

There’s a moment of stillness before Nero’s ring starts spinning wildly. “No one asked for your help.”

“Technically, your girlfriend did. But that’s neither here nor there. You’re here now. Get some rest.”

Nero looks at him with venom, but Dante is too tired to care. He’s not used to this. He’s not used to caring so much.

With one final heavy sigh, he gets up and leaves the room. Before he shuts the door, though, he calls back, “There’s water on the nightstand. And your coat is downstairs.”

He leaves quickly, but that doesn’t stop him from hearing the way Nero snarls at him. The way he growls. He just hopes he doesn’t scratch at the bare arm. With Devil Bringer, it could cause some serious damage, even for a half demon with unusual healing capabilities.

In the main bar, he sits at his desk and stares at the coat and collection of weapons sitting on the couch. Red Queen and Blue Rose sit together innocuously enough as a massive broadsword and gun can be. But it’s Yamato that stares back at him. The sword brings back too many painful memories, reminds him of the brother he loved and lost.

It’s a good thing he’s in Hell, far away from where he could do any damage anymore.

\--

Nero comes down from the bedroom several hours later, still looking unsteady but also considerably better than he looked when Dante found him.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty. Feeling any better?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance to Dante. Just spins his ring and stalks over to his coat, tossing it on and absently checking his pockets.

And that’s when he freezes.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Nero sounds absolutely enraged and Dante can’t keep a bit of a smirk from sneaking to his lips, “No more needles, no more drugs. You’re getting clean.”

“Who the fuck are _you_ to say that?”

“Kinda sound like a whiny teenager, kid. I’m trying to help you.”

His eyes flash red and Dante tenses in case he goes into trigger. “If you want to help me then give them back. I _need_ it.”

Just barely, Dante’s brows draw tighter, “Why’s that, Nero?”

“Because he won’t _shut up_!”

Silence.

The two men stare at each other from across the bar, eyes wide. Dante didn’t expect that. “Who? Who won’t shut up?”

Nero shuts down, ring spinning, he turns away and stalks back up the stairs. Dante lets him go, eyes flitting back toward the weapons he left behind on the couch. To the gleaming katana leaning against the arm of the couch.

He has a bad feeling about this.

\--

Dante keeps a careful eye on Nero after that. He stays at Devil May Cry, taking over Dante’s room. Dante watches the way he will be doing something completely mundane, and then suddenly start spinning his ring. He watches him struggle over his lack of access to his ketamine.

He falls in love.

He doesn’t tell him, how could he? But he recognises it. He’s pretty sure Trish sees it, when she’s there. Might even have told Lady. But Nero doesn’t know. Can’t know. It’s not like that’s what he needs right now. What he needs is something solid to lean on, somewhere to use as refuge. He doesn’t need confusing emotions and feelings, not to mention all the stupid demon shit that goes along with it.

He needs someone that cares.

He gets pretty close with Trish, who acts like a mother to him. Lady spends hours in his room with him one day and they seem to have a certain kind of solemn camaraderie after that. But Dante has trouble getting close to him. Nero panics if Dante is near him when he wakes up, even though the only way he sleeps through the night without violent nightmares is if he’s there. So he takes to crawling into bed with him, holding him through the night and leaving before he wakes with a kiss to his forehead.

It takes him months before Nero resembles something normal. Months before he stops begging for a needle so he can float. And in that time, Dante notices the way Nero’s eyes glaze over before his ring starts spinning and that it starts happening more and more often.

Nero approaches him a month later with intent.

As much as he wants to give in to temptation and let him do as he wishes, what Dante himself has wanted, he doesn’t. Nero’s ring spinning tells him something about this is wrong. And if Dante is going to take this step, he wants _both_ of them to want it.

“I see what you’re doing there, kid.”

Nero slides in closer to where Dante is sitting at his desk, positions himself so his ass sticks out tantalisingly, and leans forward toward him, “What are you gonna do about it, old man?”

Dante lets his eyes wander over Nero’s form, carefully examining him, then he reaches out and yanks the younger man into his lap. His hand grips at Nero’s hair and just as he’d expected, Nero starts spinning his ring.

“Nothing. Bathroom’s free, if you need to fly solo.”

Nero sneers and yanks his head from Dante’s grasp then grinds down on Dante’s lap, “I know you want it.”

Dante shoots him a withering glare as he grabs his shoulders and pushes him away. “You’re not wrong. But you don’t.”

Nero’s eyes widen in shock just for a moment before they narrow in anger, “What about this says I don’t want it?”

He grinds down again and Dante pushes him back yet again, then grabs his left wrist so he can hold it up between them. “You’ve got some shit going on in that head of yours. You don’t have to tell me, but I want to help if you’ll let me.”

“You can’t help me!” He wrenches his hand away from Dante’s grip, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Nero, other than my brother, who is currently in Hell, I’m the only other half demon in existence for all we know. I think I’m the _only_ one who would understand.”

His eyes glaze and his ring spins. It’s been happening so much recently that Dante nearly sighs with exasperation. Instead, he lets a hand float up to cup Nero’s cheek and he searches his eyes, “Where do you go when you disappear, зайчик?”

He comes back to himself and flinches from Dante’s hand like it’s burned him. “What do you want from me?”

“I just want to help.”

Nero’s eyes narrow in suspicion, “Why the fuck would you want to do that? What’s in it for you?”

Dante sighs and drops his hands so they’re resting on the arms of his chair, “You want the gods’ honest truth? I’m in love with you, kid. Don’t know how it happened and never really wanted it to, but it did. And it _kills_ me to watch you like this.”

He watches the way Nero fights with himself. Can _see_ the way he struggles with whatever it is that goes on in his head. It’s a long time, and Nero’s expression goes through several changes as he wrestles in his mind. And then-

“I don’t- No! Ver- _SHUT UP, VERGIL!_ ”

And several things happen at once.

Nero jumps up to standing and stumbles back several steps. Dante’s hands fly to where he has Ivory and Ebony holstered. And Nero’s eyes glow red as he goes into trigger and Yamato flies from where it was resting in the corner to him.

He charges, and it’s all Dante can do to get Rebellion up in front of him to defend himself. He doesn’t initiate, doesn’t push forward, simply holds his ground as Nero comes after him. It’s fast and exhausting, and without triggering himself, Dante isn’t sure he can keep this up.

It takes nearly a half hour before Dante gives in and triggers. There’s already blood covering every surface in the area, most of the furniture is broken, and Nero doesn’t look like he is going to stop. Dante doesn’t even know if he can. But once they’re on even ground, Dante subdues the younger man much easier, even with the added difficulty to dealing with Vergil’s fighting style again.

God, he wishes he’d known.

It isn’t until Rebellion is pinning Nero to the floor that he finally comes down. Dante is kneeling over him, panting hard, hand leaning into Rebellion’s hilt. Nero looks utterly wrecked.

“Are you done?”

When the tears start, Dante knows it’s over for now.

“I’m- so- Da-” He can’t get words out and everytime he tries they just get stuck.

“Shhh, it’s ok, Nero. I’ve got you. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Nero’s fingers grip at Dante’s coat, arms at awkward angles because of the sword still holding him down. His tears fall freely and Dante just lets him sob, pets his hair back as he falls apart in front of him. He doesn’t know how long it takes before Nero passes out from the exhaustion of the fight, of crying, of waging war inside his own head, but his knees are sore from they way he’s perched on them. They crack when he stands and yanks Rebellion away.

He cleans Nero up some, takes him up to the bed, and lays him down so he can sleep. He looks restful, for once, and Dante spends a few minutes just watching him fondly. Then he sets his jaw and goes back downstairs.

Yamato lays in the middle of the floor coated in blood and looking otherwise completely innocuous.

Dante wipes the blade down, wraps it up, and sets out for where he last knew Trish to be. She can take care of it.

\--

Nero wakes up to a silent, now familiar room alone.

Really alone.

He can’t feel the presence in his head at all.

For a moment, it makes him panic. It’s such a foreign thing, to be alone in his head, that his throat closes and chest tightens at the thought. After several minutes of holding himself and trying to breath, he finally catches the oxygen he was pulling so desperately for and calms himself down.

His head is pounding.

The door opens and for a split second he thinks it’s someone else, someone from when he was ten years old.

But it’s Dante’s calm face looking over at him with something a lot like… love.

He confessed, hadn’t he?

“You look like shit, kid.”

He doesn’t even try to make a jibe back, “It’s gone. Why’s it gone?”

Dante watches him a moment before stepping toward the bed and taking a seat while he nods, “Good. You had the worst thing you could have had picking around in your head, there, зайчик.”

After a moment’s pause, Nero looks hard at Dante, “Why do you call me that?”

The older man’s head cocks to the side with a smirk, “You remind me of a bunny, don’t you think? ‘S what it means.”

His gaze drops, fixed pointedly at the abstract pattern in the blanket, “He called me that. Bunny, I mean. When he wanted me to do something. Whispered it in my head and told me he was proud.”

Dante looks at him with wide, concerned eyes, “I- I’ll stop.”

Nero’s head snaps up and his eyes lock with Dante’s, “No. I… I like it when you say it.”

He gets a smirk for that, “Whatever you say, зайчик.”

Nero can feel the genuine smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah.”

The way Dante’s arms suddenly wrap around him surprises him, but doesn’t scare him. Rather, makes him feel warm, wanted, cared for.

Loved.


End file.
